


How Paris Gellar Realized She Loves Rory Gilmore

by AlysstheHatter1999



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, F/F, Rory & Paris doing the awkward dance, This is so sappy, but still cute, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29543256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlysstheHatter1999/pseuds/AlysstheHatter1999
Summary: Paris has never had someone who wants to be close to her before. Even her boyfriends, eventually, would sit further away, would stop holding her hand or wrapping an arm around her shoulder, it was like she was toxic. She'd never really noticed until she did. Rory, however, doesn't mind being close to people, and maybe that's what Paris needed.Ever wanted a comfort fic friends to lovers with ample touch-starvation satisfaction? Only all the time? Me too.Please note I own none of the characters, movies or franchises mentioned in this fic, I just like to recommend good movies, and I really love this ship, and I needed more fanfic for it so I wrote my own. If I have inconsistencies I'm sorry, feel free to (nicely, please) tell me in the comments and I'll fix them.Thanks for reading!
Relationships: Paris Geller/Rory Gilmore
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	How Paris Gellar Realized She Loves Rory Gilmore

She was screaming, per usual, clutching her ice cream while Rory sat as far from her as possible on the stupid twin bed. "AND TRISTAN! CAN YOU BELIEVE I EVEN GAVE HIM THE TIME OF DAY?! /YEARS/, GILMORE, YEARS! AND STILL! NOT ONE OF THE MEN I'VE LOVED HAVE TRULY LOVED ME FOR ME! THEY WANT ME TO BE DIFFERENT, SMALLER, WELL... WELL! FUCK THAT! I WANT TO BE LARGER THAN LIFE. I WANT SOMEONE WHO /WANTS/ ME TO BE LARGER THAN LIFE! AND WHERE THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND A MAN WITH AN EDUCATION THAT /WANTS/ ME TO BE LARGER THAN LIFE?! ALL THE HISTORY THEY LEARN AND BOOKS THEY READ AND THEY ONLY RETAIN THE MYSOGINISTIC BIGGOTS! I'M SICK OF IT!" Her chest was heaving, and she gasped for breath as she brought another spoonful of no-dairy, no gluten, no eggs cookiedough ice cream to her mouth and sobbed around the spoon. Her best moment? It was not. She also figured she was drunk enough not to remember any of this in the morning, and Rory knew better than to talk about this in the morning. Paris didn't even have to threaten her, and that was what she loved about Rory. Paris had to stop for a moment, then, a full-body freeze she hadn't known she was capable of at that realization. She was too drunk, and the room was swimming.  
"I know, Paris, and I'm sorry they couldn't appreciate you." Rory covered a yawn, and then Paris was crying for another reason.  
"You do. You appreciate me, and I appreciate you. That's why we're friends, that's why we work." It was a babble around a spoon, but suddenly Rory looked alert again, or maybe Paris was just so used to people yawning when she spoke that she was imagining Rory being tired. "I'm so tired." She managed to say, semi-audibly. That sounded fine as her last words for the night, she decided, as she slipped into unconsciousness. 

In the morning, Paris awoke to the running thought of the fever dream she'd been having, right before she was running to the bathroom, fortunately able to hold it together until she was over the toilet, and then she saw every bit of ice cream, scotch, and pizza she had eaten the night before. It was reasonably half-dissolved by her stomach acid, and she gasped for breath right before another wave of spasms wracked through her stomach. She couldn't remember what her dream had been about, now, and this felt horrible, and she wanted to stop throwing up but the room was spinning and there was something about the light from the window that was too painful to look at. Paris, in short, felt like shit.  
When the heaving had stopped, Paris noticed the glass of water and bottle of aspirin on the table at the side of her bed. So Rory, or at least someone, knew what had happened the night before. Paris wanted to lose her stomach again at the realization she had no idea what had happened after her second glass of scotch. She somehow had the feeling she didn't want to know, but found at least one answer in how much alcohol had just erupted from her stomach. She had drank at least a bottle of scotch. A good one, she noted absently.  
She crawled to her bedside table, careful to avoid direct light, and downed half of the glass of water before dry-swallowing two aspirin. It would kick in soon, and she could go back to noise above 20 decibles. She downed the rest of the glass, felt the water hit her stomach heavily and decided to sit still for a minute.  
When she thought she could, she stood up, and began the trek to the kitchen to put something greasy in her stomach. She wasn't ready to face Rory when the woman came back from her morning class, and Paris thanked God that she was wearing a shirt and an old pair of Doyle's boxers, but also recognized that she did not have anything else on. This morning sucked.  
"Good morning, party girl, how ya feelin'?" Rory asked, bright and cheery as ever. Paris wished she had taken more aspirin as she leaned over her bacon and eggs, groaning. "Yeah, I figured." Rory sighed and set down her books, moving to sit next to Paris.  
"I need more aspirin." Paris grumbled through a runny egg.  
"I don't know, I think you mostly need water." Rory sighed, getting up to refill Paris' glass of orange juice with water from the pitcher in the fridge with Paris' homemade filter. It was difficult for her to pull her eyes away from Rory as she carefully filled the glass and replaced the pitcher, closing the door with her foot as she spun and handed Paris the glass.  
"You move like a ballerina, sometimes, you know?" And Paris had no idea what had caused that to be spoken aloud.  
"I took lessons when I was eight." Rory said on a laugh. "A ballerina I am not."  
"I may need photographic evidence to believe it." Paris mumbled, taking another bite of her eggs. She blinked as she realized her fork was empty.  
"You're lucky I'm not much for taking pictures, right now, because I don't like blackmail." Rory laughed again as she sat down, and Paris wondered when she had gotten so funny. Something was telling her she was still drunk. "You're definitely still drunk, Paris. You might want to go back to sleep for a while." And Rory was helping her up. Paris tried to explain to Rory that she needed to clean up, she was responsible for the explosion in the kitchen, she should clean it up, but Rory just bustled her (a little more forcibly than she'd known the waif could) back to bed. "You can clean up the mess I make for dinner tonight." Rory said as she breezed out the door, and Paris fell asleep before she even heard Rory start to wash the dishes.  
Paris woke up far more sober in the late afternoon. Her stomach was quiet, thankfully, and she stood and stretched, still panicking that she had no clue what had happened the night before, but, as Terrence had taught her, she decided that she would make a point to drive to the pharmacy, buy some PlanB, aspirin, and chocolate, and she would make an appointment for STD testing and spend the weekend studying in bed to eliminate the worst case scenarios. Anything else, she wasn't sure her reputation could hold up, but she would rebuild. It still took a couple of "Belly-breaths" to get her feeling okay again, though.  
She tentatively listened at the door to discover that Rory was watching their TV, so she decided to go and get something to eat. "So," Rory had noticed her, "How's that hangover?"  
"B-Better." Paris stuttered, feeling herself start to freak out. Why was Rory so calm? Surely she had done something embarrassing last night. That had to be it, and it was probably something Paris was going to have to try to excuse or, worse, apologize for.  
"Good. Are you hungry?" Rory asked.  
"Yeah, yeah, I am." Paris sat down on one of their barstools for a moment, and Rory bounced off the couch and strode to the refrigerater, pulling out some chinese take out boxes with a grin.  
"Good, I'm starving." So they ate cold chinese food on their couch, watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and resting only a few inches apart. Paris always noticed the space between herself and others, and realized she was closer to Rory than anyone else would be. Even on their tiny sofa, anyone else would have hugged the armrest like their life depended on it. Not Rory. Just a few inches, not even, as Paris studied their thighs sharing a couch cushion. Paris didn't know what to do with that information, so she decided to just file it away for later.  
When they were done, Paris cleared their containers and got a water bottle for Rory on her way back, sitting down just a bit closer to Rory, not knowing why but wanting to see what she would do.  
Rory didn't seem to even notice it, and Paris didn't know what to do with that either. So they sat, close together, on their couch, in their living room. Paris realized she had relaxed into the cushion a bit, and the curve felt weird in her spine.  
Rory turned to her when the movie was over and smiled before saying, "Paris, this is ridiculous."  
"What?" Paris asked, wondering if Rory really had noticed that she was closer and was saying that it was ridiculous Paris had done that. Paris felt her face go cold.  
"You're not pregnant, you don't have any STD's, and you didn't do anything too far beyond the realm of your normal." Rory explained. "Except down a bottle of scotch." She added as an after thought. Paris nodded, releasing a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.  
"Do I want to know what you mean by realm of normalcy?" Paris asked on a sigh, desperate to know but not sure she really should be.  
"Mostly just ranted about "Stupid Fucking Men"." Rory was straight-faced, now, almost stern like she was mimicing Paris. "Nothing some ice cream and some sleep didn't fix. And before you ask, it was the no-dairy, no-gluten, no-eggs cookie dough stuff." Paris guessed that explained why she wasn't still in the bathroom, and let herself look grateful.  
"Thank you, I owe you, big time. What do you want? I can buy you dinner, or let you get totally drunk and I'll take care of you, or-"  
"Paris, stop." Rory held up her hands. "That's what friends are for, Paris, to help eachother... We've reviewed this a million times. Someday I will need something, and you will be there."  
"You know I hate owing people." Paris wheedled, and Rory sighed.  
"Are you planning on moving out?"  
"What? No!" Paris barked, a little hurt Rory would ask something like that.  
"Then you will have ample opportunity to pay me back." Rory smirked, and Paris knew she shouldn't keep worrying that Rory would leave, or ask her to leave. Terrence had told her that she had to trust someone, and the thing is, she couldn't even sit this close to her own mother without the woman inching away, disguising the movements as readjusting or getting comfortable. Rory, though, had gotten closer while they talked. Paris wasn't sure why that made her feel a little lighter.  
"Fine, Gilmore, but just know all you have to do is ask." Paris huffed, not wanting to let Rory know that she was relieved.  
"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something." 

Turns out, that something was a week later. Rory was huddled on the couch, and she was crying. "Rory, are you...?" Paris started, but Rory just looked up from her ice cream and sniffled.  
"I miss Dean." She said, sighing through her tears. "I miss that he would hold me, and watch cheesey romance movies with me, and he was so nice, but..." and then Paris noticed the wine bottle, and she sighed and put down her books, exhausted from a day of lectures.  
"What can I do, Rory?" Paris asked as she went to grab Rory some water.  
"Will you cuddle me? I just... I miss being held, like that, you know?" And Paris felt her heart thud almost painfully in her chest as she noticed the way Rory was looking at her like her last hope.  
"Of course I will, but I need you to drink this, first." Paris said. "Thank you for letting me help." She added, because she realized that she was able to help Rory, now, and repay her debt.  
Rory obediently drank the water and then sighed, scooching over on the couch until there was room for Paris to sit down, and when Paris sat she leaned over and fell across Paris' lap. Paris gestured to the second wine bottle on the floor and asked, "May I?"  
"Help y'rself." Rory mumbled, turning onto her side and laying with her hands under her head.  
Paris noticed that the bottle was already partially gone and sighed, taking a swig that burned all the way down in the best way. Something in the back of her mind was telling her that she wouldn't mind coming home and doing this every night. Maybe not the wine, but an excuse not to go out on a Friday and still not be alone was more present in her mind than Rory, who seemed to have fallen asleep.  
"Mmm..." Paris heard a few minutes later, and noticed Rory shifting. There were a few strands of hair tucked into Rory's mouth and Paris brushed them away, noticing how soft Rory's skin was. The last person's face she'd touched was Doyle's, and he almost always had some kind of stubble, but Rory's face felt like a rose petal. 'Maybe that was the wine.' Paris told herself as she tried to refocus on the movie. The plot was lost on Paris, but she tried to pick it up and had managed to piece together a little bit of it by the time the movie ended fifteen minutes later. It was something about robots from the future sent to destroy the 1980's. Paris wouldn't have objected, once, having no hidden distaste for loud music and such garrish colors, but Rory liked the musicians that didn't sound like they were mashing buttons on a computer or secretly just destroying every instrument they could get their hands on in the span of two minutes. Paris had even learned the lyrics of some of the songs she liked, when Rory would study with music blaring as loud as her speakers could go. Paris felt Rory shift again, and suddenly her friend was blinking up at her. Paris felt very warm, suddenly, and prayed the blush wouldn't be visible in the low light. "Hey, Paris." Rory sighed, still looking up and blinking and her voice was soft, and Paris realized the wine bottle she held was empty, suddenly.  
"Hey, Rory." Paris said, feeling herself smile a little.  
"You have soft thighs. They're so comfy..." and then Rory was nuzzling her cheek against Paris' thigh, and Paris was accutely aware of where Rory's eyes would fall if they opened. "What kind of fabric are these pants made of?" Rory asked, suddenly, eyes flying open, and Paris didn't know why this was such a thing for her.  
"Uh, cotton-wool blend." Paris didn't know what else to say. Rory hadn't moved.  
"You know, you still aren't holding me like Dean used to." Rory pouted. "I know you don't like touching people, I'm sorry." She said a moment later, a little clearer.  
"How did Dean hold you?" And there was something terrifying in how Paris was absolutely terrified of the answer. The question, as always, was why?  
"He used to bundle me up against him, on the couch, or in a chair, and just hold me close. He held me like he wanted me..." Rory trailed off, staring at Paris' stomach resolutely.  
"Let me get another bottle, and we'll see." Paris, after all, owed Rory big time, and she had offered up herself as payment. It was too easy to do, and Paris felt her hand shake before she let Rory sit up a bit and padded to the kitchen for another bottle of wine, setting that on the counter before quickly going to change into her pajamas. She re-emerged to find Rory upright and opening the wine, popping the cork just as Paris came out and startled both of them.  
"One sec," and Rory disappeared into the bathroom.  
Paris poured them glasses and was standing beside the couch, wine glasses on the table and she was glaring at the pillows. She couldn't decide how to position herself. "Lay down, Paris." Rory said, squatting in front of the VHS player and perusing their movie selection. Paris took a long drink from her glass and laid down, feeling herself sink into the cushions comfortably before Rory put in a tape, grabbed the remote and a blanket and laid herself on the couch in front of Paris. Rory picked up Paris' arm and draped it over her waist, then leaned up to allow Paris' other arm to drag under her, and pulled Paris' hands together.  
Paris clasped her hands over Rory's midsection and forgot how to breathe for a moment. She was so frail, in that moment, and Paris felt like she was about to break. "Can you..." Rory started, then grasped her wine glass and took a drink, setting down the cup, "Are you okay, Paris?" She asked, and Paris didn't know how to answer, but Rory was starting to squirm away so Paris held her tighter.  
"No!" The exclamation was quick and sharp, and Paris breathed and relaxed, letting herself slowly squeeze Rory back into her body. "I mean, I'm fine, really, I just haven't really... cuddled..."  
"Never?" Rory asked.  
"Well, not like this." Paris felt like everything was fuzzy and soft, the wine loosening her up a little more, bit by bit.  
"Oh..." Rory said, though Paris wasn't sure she understood everything behind the utterance.  
"Yeah." Paris couldn't help but agree. "Are you okay? With this? I know I'm not doing very well at helping you." And Paris couldn't bring herself to stop wishing she was smoother, knew the social morays for holding your only friend on the couch while you're both drunk. She was so drunk.  
"I'm good, but I can help on the cuddling front." Rory said, before one of her long legs was shoved between Paris' calves, icy cold toes curling around Paris' relatively warm feet under the blanket, and Rory pulled the rest of the blanket over their shoulders. The reach was awkward, but with the pillows and the blanket and Rory pressed firmly against Paris from shoulders to toes, Paris had to marvel at how safe it felt. "Good? Comfy?" Rory asked, and somehow her voice sounded almost hollow.  
Paris swallowed around the lump in her throat and responded: "I'm okay." There was a moment of just watching the movie before Paris said, "You were right, this is nice." And she felt Rory squirm a little before reaching for Paris' wine glass to hand off before grabbing her own.  
"A toast, to cuddling." Rory said with a grin, clinking her glass to Paris' and they both took a pull from their glasses before laying back down. Paris was beginning to truly relax, and was almost asleep when she heard Rory start to breathe deeply and evenly. Timing her breaths to Rory's put her to sleep in moments, and damn if that wasn't the best sleep she had had since Doyle. They hadn't even started the movie.

Paris still remembered the point she had started to be truly comfortable around Rory. She had had a freak out over a bad test and Rory had been able to calm her down with just words and reassurances, and Rory just smiled and said she would freak out too, but it's easy to be strong for Paris, because Paris is strong all the time, so when she needs a break, Rory's happy to help. This turns over butterflies in Paris' stomach to rival the monarch migration.  
After that, she didn't worry as much about what Rory may hear or see, because she realized she had had some of her worst moments in front of Rory while freaking out about something. The dance with her weasely cousin, the Tristan debacle, the Doyle mishap, all because she had wigged, majorly wigged, and typically all solved by talking to Rory. So, Paris began talking to Rory. 

Between classes and studying, there was casual conversation about classes and courses available for the coming year, their last year in college, and the conversations had moved to music and bands that Paris had heard and liked, to movies, to whatever books they were reading in their spare time. Then, before Paris could have a panic attack over not being able to find the pizza delivery menu one night for the phone number, (it belonged in the takeout menu drawer under the spice rack, and it /just wasn't there/), Paris took in a breath and turned to Rory who was reading on the couch. "Rory?" Paris asked, and waited the obligatory minute before saying, "Rory?" Again. "Rory... Earth to Major Tom!" And then Rory looked up, startled.  
"Wha-? Oh, sorry Paris, what's up?" Rory asked.  
"Do you know what happened to the pizza delivery menu?" Paris asked.  
"Oh! Shoot, sorry, it got caught under a rogue pizza box and soaked in grease, so I had to throw it away. I wrote the number on a paper in there, though, and I've memorized the menu." Rory looked like she was sorry, and Paris sighed.  
"Would you mind ordering, then?" She asked, walking over to hand the phone to Rory.  
"Sure! Yeah, I can do that." Rory said, taking the phone and dialling so quickly it made Paris' fingers hurt. "Hey, Saul! Yeah, the usual, please!" Rory said, looking triumphant in her ability to order food. "Perfect, thanks, Saul, see you soon!" And then Rory was handing the phone back to Paris.  
"You're too good at people." Paris said with a sigh.  
"More like I'm too nice to people, sometimes. But you're Miss Grouchie-Pants most of the time, so I figure we balance out." And Rory lightly punched Paris in the thigh, like a move out of some "crazy best friends" comedy.  
"Well..." Paris didn't know how to respond to that. "Have you thought about what we're going to do for grad school yet?" She panicked, okay?  
"Oh! Um, I guess I figured we'd just stay here for that, since it's pretty close to the city, for our internships, but not too far from the college either." Rory said, sitting up a bit straighter and patting the couch cushion.  
"Oh, yeah, that sounds good." Paris said a little too loudly. She had no idea what to say now, though.  
"It's decided, then. All we're missing is the big red bow and giant scissors." Rory joked, and Paris tried to laugh. Apparently, not well. "Hey, are you okay?" Rory asked.  
"I think... I just... I don't know." Paris said, shifting uncomfortably as Rory pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged in the corner of the couch. Paris brought her legs up to tuck under herself, and they were in their separate couch corners. It felt lonely.  
"What's going on in that big ol' brain of yours, Paris?" Rory asked.  
"I..." but she really didn't know, so she couldn't bring forward the words.  
"Yes, you. What are you afraid of, Paris?" Rory was calm, sitting relaxedly back into the couch, tentatively reaching out a foot to close the gap between them, and Paris blurted:  
"I don't want to not live with you, like ever." It was at the top of her mind, and Paris took a deep, steadying breath.  
"I mean, I'm sure our husbands would mind, but maybe a really big house, then? It would save on costs..." Rory trailed off in thought, and Paris took the moment to think on it.  
"What if I don't want a husband?" And her voice was small, but surely, Rory wouldn't run from this. She hadn't run from anything else, really, in five years. Not even Paris' abuse when she knew that Tristan liked Rory more. But then, Rory wasn't responding, and Paris looked up from where her head had fallen to stare at Rory's foot.  
"Paris, I don't care who you date, as long as that person makes you happy." Rory finally said. "But I'll tell you what my mom told me, that person, whoever you end up with, has got to give you that good, fuzzy feeling like you couldn't live a day without them and can't see them without wanting to touch and hold them. That's a joy no one should miss out of fear." Rory nodded, like she'd said her piece, and Paris felt like someone had dumped ice on her head.  
"Oh..." she gasped, because the only time she could remember feeling like that was curled up with Rory on the couch. Even Doyle used to breathe heavily in her ear when she would lean on his chest on the couch, and she could never get comfortable. Granted, she'd had a lot of wine that night, which contributed to the warm and fuzzies, but that realization was startling.  
"Don't worry, Paris, we'll find you someone." Rory used her foot to pat Paris' leg a couple of times, and they stayed like that until Saul showed up with their pizza, then Rory went to pay and Paris got up to grab sodas and candy for dessert.  
"Rory, I..."  
"I love you too, Paris. Now, let's watch something funny. Exams are getting depressing." And just like that, Rory had flopped on the couch, opening the pizza box with an elegant flick and picking up a steaming slice. But Paris was frozen. She... no... no, no, Rory had only ever fantasized about a knight in shining armor, to lift her up and sweep her into his arms, and Paris had the vague image of herself carrying Rory bridal style. That, thankfully, unfroze her joints, and she sat down and picked up a slice of pizza, eating mechanically as Rory polished off her first slice and then sunk to the floor to crawl to the movie cabinet, a move so familiar, but Paris couldn't take her eyes off of Rory, specifically her back and the way it arched as she sunk to her elbows to peruse. It was such a child's gesture, but Rory had no problem being childish when the situation allowed, and it made Paris smile. She quickly wiped the smile from her face as Rory pushed herself up, grabbed the remote, and pushed play.  
This was not happening. Rory was the only person who actually liked Paris for everything she was, and Paris was noticing the curve of her spine. She didn't even find girls attractive! Most girls were stupid, talking about lipgloss and boys and now husbands, kids... but Paris had never wanted children. 

Paris was almost the perfect replica of her mother, minus the alcohol and Valium, and she was missing some of her mother's gumption. And now, she had figured out she didn't want to be her mom and get a husband and have a drinking problem. What was the use of a man in her life when the men smart enough to match her usually wanted her dumbed down? They all, eventually, wanted a Reader's Digest version of her that had repulsed and terrified her, as opposed to encouraging her to be everything she wanted to be and could be. Doyle hadn't been like that, at first. He wanted the strength Paris could bring, the knowledge and wit to get what she wanted, when she wanted it, but she usually wanted things for other people, and when she did want something for herself her throat would close, and she didn't know how to ask him. Then, they had begun to discuss their future. 

Doyle had proposed on his couch, in his living room, as they were discussing future jobs. It wasn't romantic, and it certainly didn't make her swoon. "If we're going to spend our lives together, we should get married." Doyle had said simply, like it was a question of whether to get a glass of water.  
"I... I don't think we're ready for that kind of discussion just yet, Doyle. We haven't discussed anything about marriage." She had said carefully, having thought of the one day but not expecting the question at least until they were both out of college.  
"I think we have... we have similar career choices, similar lifestyles..." Dolye was speaking airily, like her contributions beyond that would be minimal.  
"What about kids? Where would we live, Doyle? I don't even have a job, yet, really, and neither do you. How have we discussed any of that?" Paris tried to stay calm, thinking of the prayer beads she had tried with Terrence and running a monologue of 'calm' through her head.  
"We haven't, but that's what we discuss later, you know?"  
"What do you mean, later? Doyle, you just said we should get married, and we don't even have the groundwork of a basic marriage laid out."  
"I didn't say we should get married tonight-"  
"No, but you did say we should! You're talking about the rest of our lives when I don't even know your favorite spice, yet! Let alone whether you want kids, and a big house, and me to be the stereotypical housewife raising the kids or if I'll be able to actually do something with my life before I'm old and gray." She was not calm, but this wasn't a freak out yet either. Paris mostly just felt cold.  
"I... you don't want kids?" Doyle had asked.  
"I want to live my life. I don't want to babysit snot-nosed brats all day while you get to go out and do something, Doyle." He looked shocked. That was bad. But the words he had said were worse. The next words were horrible.  
"I thought everyone wanted kids one day. Maybe not the people I work with, but isn't that why you get into a relationship? To find someone you love and then have the legacy go on?" And Paris was frozen, curled into a ball on the couch, and Doyle was looking at her like he was confused. Paris had wanted to cry but couldn't. She stood stiffly, instead, and clasped her hands behind her back to hide the shaking.  
"No, Doyle. You get into a relationship because you love that person, all of them, and wouldn't change a thing about them if you could, because that's the person you love." Paris knew she had spoken very loudly, especially in the relative silence around them, but she wasn't screaming just yet. "Not to "have the legacy go on". That's so stupid, Doyle. Are you living for your legacy? Because I'm trying to live for myself, for once." Paris felt her heart crack in the anger that washed over Doyle's face.  
"Aren't you living for your legacy? What's the point of being the best if not to be remembered, huh, Paris?" Doyle asked.  
"The point, Doyle, is /LIVING/ FOR MYSELF! LIVING FOR THE ABILITY TO BE THE BEST, AND STRIVING TO BE BETTER THAN THAT, BECAUSE I CAN! AND I WON'T BE TABLING THAT FOR SOME STUPID LEGACY!" Paris couldn't keep the control for this.  
"Stupid legacy? So that's all I am to you, huh? A stupid legacy, now?" Doyle asked, having stood and crossed his arms over his chest. He was very quiet.  
"I'm not saying that, but that's what kids really are, and I would know, when you raise kids to be a legacy they turn out like me! A fuckup who can't even get into the right school out of highschool! So no, I don't want kids, because they'd be more fucked up than I am." Paris sighed. "And there's really nothing that would change my mind."  
"Wow..." Doyle said, looking Paris up and down. "That's... wow." And he sat down again. "You're not even willing to try it?" He asked.  
"I've considered monetarily adopting a kid in China, but I can't." Paris could hear the joke, but apparently Doyle couldn't.  
"I think you should go." Doyle said, just barely above a whisper.  
"Yeah, I think I should." Paris was still missing that pink sweater today, but it had been worth it to get out of there and cry alone.  
And now, Paris was laying on the couch, letting Rory pop in a movie before they ate and cuddled, totally sober this time and the prior night and the night before that, and she was watching Rory move, and she decided to keep the freakout for later. This was something Rory couldn't help with, which sucked because she was really the only person who helped.  
As Rory laid down, Paris almost automatically wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close, and Rory sighed and snuggled in, letting Paris rest her head on top of Rory's shoulder. "You've gotten a lot better at this whole cuddling thing." Rory remarked as her foot found its way between Paris' calves again.  
"Yeah, well, I enjoy it too." Paris said, then quickly added, "In a totally platonic way, I mean-" she cut herself off when she felt Rory flinch. "Sorry, I'll stop-"  
"No, you're fine, Paris. Sorry, I just-"  
"No! I broke the silence pact thing we had going and I just- we're fine. It's all fine. I like the cuddling too. Can we watch the movie and eat? I'm starved." She felt Rory take a breath.  
"Sure." Rory said, reaching for the table that had been dragged closer for ease of access and grabbing two slices of pizza.  
"Thank you." Paris said as she accepted the pizza slice folded into a taco.  
"Shh, good part." Rory shushed as Patric Swayze sauntered out of the bathroom and sat down at the makeup table.  
"What movie is this?" Paris asked, thoroughly confused when Patrick began applying lipstick.  
"To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! -Julie Newmar. I think you'll like it." Rory said, and Paris could hear the grin in her voice. "Jesse found it in New York, and he said he got it because he knows I like Patrick Swayze, but when Mom sat down to watch it she said it was too heartbreaking that Patrick dressed like her mother in drag." And wow, Paris was never going to look at Emily the same again as she watched the pageant and realized that yes, Miss Vida Boheme did look a little like Emily Gilmore on that stage.  
"It may be a good thing you're holding me hostage, here, but okay." Paris said, and Rory laughed.  
"You just have to give it a chance. Now shush!" So she did. They watched in silence save for the sound of pizza being eaten, and paused for a bathroom break once, but then finished the movie. At the end, Paris was crying. She hadn't wiped her eyes, because doing so would be admitting the tears, but Rory sat up and looked down at Paris, suddenly. "Paris, are you okay?" She asked.  
"I-I'm fine." She sniffled. Paris had the feeling she would regret letting her emotions get the better of her, but then Rory turned a bit and wrapped her arms around Paris, and Paris couldn't help but freeze a bit at the unexpected contact. Then Rory was squeezing tighter, and Paris couldn't help letting a few more tears fall.  
"If I'd known drag queens were going to make you cry I wouldn't have played the movie." Rory said into her sternum, and Paris had to laugh a bit at that.  
"It's just... that speech, at the end? What was that? That was beautiful!" Paris felt a sob work its way up her throat and swallowed around it.  
"So, are you sad crying?" Rory asked.  
"More like emotional, which I know I never do, but apparently this movie..." Paris didn't know what to say after that, so she left it.  
"I get it. I cried after Old Yeller so much Mom threw it away and sprinkled holy water on it. I was five, so I didn't get the joke, but neither of us had slept in a little over 24 hours so it seemed rational at the time."  
"Good to know you're a dog person." Paris said quietly, trying to break the tension that had formed in the air.  
"I've done a hamster, a dog, a chicken, and a cat, and none of those have worked out very well." Rory said. "I think I'm a me person. Maybe a me and another person person." Rory, Paris noticed, was actually kind of adorable when she rambled. Her eyes would glaze like she was seeing something else that wasn't there, and her voice got happy, and Paris sighed into Rory's hair from where it tickled her nose.  
"I guess we won't be getting you a puppy for Christmas, then." Paris tried to joke, and Rory laughed a little. Paris wiped her eyes, careful not to elbow Rory in the face. "It was a good movie." Paris sighed when she found her voice again.  
"I thought so too. It gives you an idea of what love can be, at least." And Paris wasn't sure how to take that comment, so she didn't say anything.  
They laid there for another minute before Rory pulled away, gathering the almost-empty pizza box and empty soda cans on her way to the kitchen. Paris sat up and wiped her eyes once more, then got up to eject the movie and see if she could find another one they hadn't already watched. Rory sat down cross-legged in front of the cabinet with Paris after a moment, and Paris realized their arms were brushing, ever so lightly, and that was something she hadn't experienced before Rory, either. Someone wanting to be close to her like that, to touch her, and Paris realized she really wanted to kiss Rory in that moment.  
"A-Actually, Rory, I think I may go to bed. It's getting late, and it's been a long day." Paris excused herself quietly, standing from the floor.  
"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you up." Rory replied with contrition.  
"No, you didn't, I'm just getting tired is all." Paris said, trying not to meet her eyes.  
"Well, if you want to fall asleep on the couch you can, we can put on something quiet." Rory said, bouncing up from the floor with her usual vigor. "Grandpa gave me this movie when I was trying to learn to golf." And she held up The Legend of Bagger Vance.  
"He said it was good, and had the 1940's feel for nostalgia." Paris hadn't seen it, but didn't much care for golf. Rory was giving her puppy dog eyes, even though Paris could tell she was trying not to, and Paris just couldn't bring herself to turn away and go to bed.  
"Okay." She said, before moving back to the couch and laying down as far from the edge as she could to give Rory some room.  
Rory put in the movie and started it up, and Paris watched as she walked to her room for pillows and her comforter, and then she ordered Paris up for a minute while she fixed up her pillows, and fell back into Paris on the couch. They squirmed their way into their comfortable positions and Rory played the movie.  
Falling asleep next to Rory wasn't new, but the way her heart thumped as she felt Rory fall asleep against her was, and Paris squeezed Rory a bit closer as she felt herself nod off. She awoke a few hours later to Rory kicking her shin and promptly falling off the couch, the TV gone to static but noiseless and Rory crying out as she fell. "We should go to bed." Paris said evenly, trying not to smile at the way Rory's hair had gone everywhere.  
"You... you're probably right." Rory said on a sigh, smoothing her hair down as she got up. "Thank you, Paris, goodnight." And Rory disappeared into her room, forgetting her pillows but dragging her quilt behind her. That wasn't something Rory would do, but Paris didn't know how to ask what was wrong without totally blowing the incident out of proportion, so she went and laid down. Except she wanted to know what she had done to make Rory run away from her like that. Her shin still smarted where Rory had kicked her, and Paris ran the night over and over in her head, unable to fall asleep because of that single word running through her head. Why? 

The next morning, Paris left coffee and a donut by Rory's door, the Times folded to the editorials and the funny pages from a local paper. In the top margin of the funny pages, Paris wrote, "I'm sorry." Then, she went to her study group.  
When Paris got back, Rory was gone, but there was a note on a piece of paper from a notebook saying, "Why are you sorry? Thank you for breakfast!" And then Paris cursed herself. Of course! She'd seen Rory uncaffeinated, knew that she was a zombie before the first cup. Paris had worried and fretted over nothing, and now Rory thought she was sorry about something, and she was, but that something had absolutely nothing to do with Rory and everything to do with Rory. How was she going to explain that she was sorry Rory hadn't asked for cuddling in her bed? And at that thought, Paris took a moment. How, exactly, had she forgotten her epiphany? She had wanted to kiss Rory last night, and had slept on the couch, holding her close, and had begun watching movies and movies and more movies, and listening to Rory's music... she wasn't sorry for that, but she was sorry that she wanted more from Rory than Rory could ever give her, while also wanting everything to stay the same. And she /was/ sorry about her feelings, but saying anything about them would make Rory feel worse, or worse than that, disgusted. They may have watched a very gay movie that Paris had no idea existed, and Paris may have cried, which was already a hint, but Rory was straight, and thought Paris was too. She wanted Paris to hold her the way Dean had because they were comfortable together. Rory was the only person Paris felt comfortable with. These thoughts percolated in Paris' head and she realized she just had to come up with a better lie. Something to apologize for. But Paris never apologized for anything, and she'd just apologized to Rory with no explanation and no rational explanation she wanted brought to light.  
By the time Rory got home, Paris had an answer, but it was a bit flimsy. "Honey, I'm home!" Rory sing-songed into the apartment as she opened the door.  
"I see that." Paris said behind her mug of tea. There was nothing more soothing than a cup of tea, and Paris had been panicking for over an hour before she thought to fix herself a cup.  
"How goes the war?" Asked Rory, nodding to the books piled around Paris in an attempt to look like she was doing anything but freaking out.  
"A few casualties, but nothing to write home about just yet." Paris replied, closing her book.  
"Oh! No, don't stop your studying, I have to cram too." Rory said with a smile. "And by the way, I don't know what you were apologizing for, but I'm fine, and we're fine." Rory pulled out her books and flooded the other half of the living room with papers and notes and highlighters, and that was it. Paris swallowed her explanation and went back to studying, and they sat on the floor until Paris felt like she was going to die if she didn't get off of her feet. She turned on the lamp, grabbed a couple of glasses of water, and handed one to Rory before sitting back down and stretching out her legs.  
"Never let my mom see you sit like that." Rory commented after a moment where Paris had been going through her stretches, rolling her neck and trying to keep her blood flowing so her brain would actually retain the information she was cramming.  
"Like what?" Paris asked, neck snapping her eyes forward.  
"Like you're sitting. I tried yoga with Mom once, and she said if I was going to look that good stretching I should be a model, then tried to papparazzi me with her camera for the rest of the day. She'd do the same to you." And Paris couldn't tell if she was joking or not.  
"You're not joking, are you." It was a question disguised as a statement, and Rory laughed a little.  
"Ha! No, not joking. She said I'd be in Vogue by Fall."  
"Your mom's got limited vision, then. I think you'd be in London by Spring time." Paris quipped, and she didn't miss Rory's... that was definitely a blush. Paris felt her heart falter, and cursed her biology as Rory sighed.  
"Grandma would have loved it if I'd gone into modelling." Rory said, and Paris knew that feeling, being the disappointment and then doing everything in your power to fix it but nothing's good enough.  
"Yeah, but that's not the point. The point is to like what you do and like yourself while you do it." Paris said.  
"Did you just casually drop the meaning of life?" Rory asked, suddenly staring at Paris, and Paris felt awkward under the attention.  
"I... I don't know. I've watched my parents, and my teachers, and everyone, and so far I think that's the only way to be happy, is to do what makes you happy." Paris murmured, and she could still feel Rory's eyes on her.  
"Paris, I-" and Rory cut herself off.  
"Whatever it is, Gilmore, I can take it." Paris said encouragingly, trying to get a rise from the old nickname.  
"Will you-" but again, nothing.  
"Can I find you a dictionary?" Paris asked drily, and Rory shook her head.  
"I want to owe you a favor." Rory blurted, and Paris wasn't quite sure where exactly that was going. "I want to owe you a favor, but I don't know how to-" again, she cut herself off.  
"Just spit it out, Rory. Whatever it is can't be half as bad as Logan or Doyle or anyone we've done stupid things for." Paris encouraged.  
"Urgh! Fine!" Rory snapped. "Stay still."  
Paris froze, and realized that Rory had carefully moved her papers and books out of the way, and Rory was crawling up to Paris on hands and knees, and suddenly, Rory's face was inches from Paris'. "Uh, Rory?" Paris asked.  
"Yeah?"  
"What's going on?" Paris asked, not totally confused but sure she had to be misinterpreting something.  
"I... I want to, um... k-kiss... you." Rory was taking shallow breaths, and so was Paris. Her heart was beating doubletime and she could hear her blood rushing by her ears. Paris didn't have the words for that, so she very carefully used her hand to brush a stray hair behind Rory's ear before leaning to close the distance.  
Rory's lips were slightly chapped, bitten, and still somehow perfect against Paris'. It started as a gentle brush, then Rory pressed in, and so did Paris, and suddenly they were on the floor, a highlighter digging into Paris' shin as she had pushed Rory back, careful to gently lay her among the notes, and as Paris pulled away they were both gasping for air. "O-Okay." Rory said. "Wow." And Paris immediately backed off, scrambled up onto the couch cushion and folded into herself, not sure why but feeling caged.  
Rory sat up immediately. "Paris?" She questioned concernedly.  
"You-you're straight." Paris said. "I thought you were straight. I thought I was straight and now-" Paris held her tongue.  
"Are you okay?" Asked Rory. "I'm so sorry, Paris, I shouldn't have pushed you, that was awful, and I violated your trust and I'm so so sorry-"  
"Rory!" Paris barked, watching Rory melt to the floor as she did. "Rory, I'm fine." She said, a bit more calm now that Rory was freaking out too. It made her feel better to not be the only one freaking out. That is, until she went over Rory's words. "Hey, wait, no, I kissed you." Paris said. "I should be asking you that. Are you okay? Is this a gay panic I haven't heard about? Or are you experimenting? I've heard college is the time for that but..."  
"Paris, I thought you were panicking."  
"I was, but only because I thought you were."  
"I was panicking because you were." Rory giggled a little hysterically. "Paris, are you really telling me you panicked because you thought I panicked? I started this!" Rory crowed, and Paris felt the shockwave unfreeze her limbs.  
"I thought you had just wanted to try it or something and you regretted it because of how that happened and it just happening like that and-"  
"Paris, no, I-" and Paris felt herself shrink into the cushions a bit more.  
"What's going on, Rory?" Paris asked.  
"I like you, okay? I tried not to, but you're really the only consistent thing in my life, and you're beautiful, and I never really noticed until we moved in together, but I was with Dean, and Jess, and Logan, and those all ended horribly, and I was sad, and you helped me, and you made me feel good about myself, and you push me to be better, to do better, to win because I know I can. No one's ever done that before, except my mom, and she's always told me that when I find someone who does that, I need to keep that person, because I'll like myself more at the end of the day. So I thought we could just be friends. And then we started getting closer, and we moved in here, and I was almost over you when suddenly, there you were again, but you laughed with me, and smiled with me, and you got really drunk and let me take care of you, and then I did the same on accident, and then we started cuddling and-" Rory gasped for breath, and Paris' head reeled for a moment, but all of that information led to one conclusion.  
Paris let herself unfold and moved to the floor in front of Rory. "Rory... I love you too." Paris said, and Rory snapped her eyes to meet Paris'.  
"You're not just saying that so I won't leave?" Rory asked.  
"No, I'm not. I want to kiss you again." Paris said, still a little unsure of her words but sure that was what she wanted. So she did, giving Rory a moment to pull away before leaning in and pressing her lips to Rory's. It felt good, like coming home after a long day to food and good company. It feltblike Rory. Rory pulled away this time, both of them seemed unsure how to proceed.  
"Paris... I want to make sure-"  
"Ugh, Rory! I promise, I want to kiss you, and bring you coffee in the morning, and cuddle with you at night, and all of the other stuff I don't have enough knowledge about right now but I'm sure we'll figure it out, because I just want to make you feel loved, Rory, and treasured, and it's not just that, but I trust you, too, and I trust myself to know what I want. Do you trust me?" Paris felt her hand start to tremble a little and let it fall to Rory's shoulder awkwardly.  
"I trust you, Paris."  
"Okay." And Paris sighed and leaned in again, and Rory melted into her, climbing into Paris' lap and shoving notes out of the way with her feet. "You're going to have to help me reorganize those." Paris whispered against Rory's lips, and Rory just grinned.  
"Fine by me." And Rory leaned in again.


End file.
